


Inexorable

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Pre-Series, Spoilers for WiH, Trans Character, Trans Fero, background one-sided lem/fero, background samothes/samot, post-season, the many way to serve your gods (and everyone else's)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 18:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13394145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: The many true callings of Fero Feritas.





	Inexorable

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lexie, for her amazing betaing and encouragement.

**shield of self: fero/galencia**

Fero scrambled over another ridge, the sharp rock face scraping at his hands. He shivered, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders for a moment before continuing to climb. He needed to get out of the cold. Once he got out of the cold, then he'd decide where to go, what to do.

 

He couldn’t go back. Or, well, he could. His mother said he would always be welcome, whether he can back in a week or in ten years. It’s just that he didn’t  _ want _ to. The thought of living in Rosemerrow for even another  _ minute _ made his skin crawl, made him want to yell, and throw things until people  _ listened _ , until they  _ understood _ . Not that either of those things seemed particularly likely.

 

He reached a flat surface, an almost-path along the side of the mountain. And there, in front of him like a miracle, was the mouth of a cave. Fero leant against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to rest against the cold stone wall. He let out a long breath, peering out over the dark forest. He could just make out the shapes of the trees in the moonlight as they moved in the wind.

 

He must be very far away by now. He couldn't even see the lights of Rosemerrow anymore. No more praising and preserving the old ways _ just because _ . The only old things in the forest were there because they had proven themselves tough enough to withstand the forces of time, worthy of praise. Ancient trees standing tall through forest fires and floods. Deep, fast flowing streams barreling over attempts to dam them. Huge mountain ridges defying attempts to conquer them. 

 

And caves. Big, old caves like the one he was in now. Fero struck his flint a few times, shielding the small flame from the wind. It looked like the cave went back a fair way, and then down. The wind swirled in the mouth of cave, biting at the back of Fero's neck. 

 

_ Down _ , Fero thought,  _ might be warmer.  _

 

Fero held the small torch carefully in front of him as he made his way slowly deeper into the cave. It was strange  – it almost seemed to get easier to see the deeper he went, the light of his torch bouncing off the walls, magnifying itself into a warm glow. 

 

The cave tunnel opened onto a large cavernous space before shrinking again, three small hollows connected to each other. 

 

Fero ran his hands along the roughened edge of the crystals that lined the cave walls. Part of the wall jutted forward a little, forming a natural shelf. The cave wall felt cooler in the room, a good place to store water and food during the heat of summer. This section of the wall curved just so, an invitation to create a cosy nook. It was like this cave had been waiting just for him. 

 

He lit the small lantern, laying out his bedroll where the wall curved, falling asleep to half-sketched ideas of what to bring into his new cave home. 

 

He awoke sometime later to a sharp, cold hand pressing into the skin of his shoulder. Fero's eyes snapped open but whoever it was had blown out his lantern. He could feel them right behind him though, looming over him, tall and solid. He wriggled a little, testing their grip, and their hand tightened.

 

“Uh, hi,” said Fero. 

 

“Who are you.” Their voice grated in his ears, setting his teeth on edge.

 

“Fero Feritas of the-,” Fero began to say, then stopped himself. No more Rosemerrow talk. “Actually, just Fero is good.”

 

The hand tightened on his shoulder again. “Why have you come to this place.”

 

“I don't know if you've noticed, but it's pretty cold out there,” said Fero, “Also, I didn't know this cave belonged to someone.”

 

“This cave belongs to no-one but itself,” said the voice, sounding annoyed, “What makes you think that you can come here and claim this mountain for Rosemerrow?”

 

“I- what? No, what? I'm not doing that, like, at all,” said Fero, “I’m not claiming this mountain in the name of  _ Rosemerrow _ , I just wanted to sleep here! I picked it because it was as far away from Rosemerrow as I could get!”

 

Fero bit his lip, hand fluttering and settling in his lap. He was glad it was too dark for the creature to see his expression. 

 

There was a pause and the hand gripping him released slightly, but stayed on his shoulder. “I see. There is much further you could still go, to be far from Rosemerrow.”

 

“Yeah but this cave is pretty nice. You can't hear the city from here. You can't even  _ see  _ the city from here.”

 

“We are underground.”

 

“No I mean--he- _ ey _ , that was a joke! I didn't know terrifying cave creatures made jokes!”

 

“They don’t,” said the voice, “I am not one of those.”

 

“Does that mean you're not going to kill me for sleeping in your cave?”

 

“I am not going to kill you, no,” said the voice, “but I might ask you for a favour, one day.”

 

“One favour? I can work with that,” said Fero. 

 

“A favour in the forest is not like a favour in Rosemerrow,” said the voice, “It will not be forgotten or deferred. You must mean to follow through on it.”

 

Their voice had gotten deeper, or, no, not deeper. Their hand was still on his shoulder but their voice seemed to come from all around him, echoing around the cave and vibrating under his feet. 

 

Fero swallowed, trying to sound as confident as he had earlier. “I  _ do  _ mean it. One favour for you, and one cave home for me.”

 

“Good,” said the voice. 

 

They pressed their hand harder into his shoulder and his skin  _ burned _ . Fero let out a yelp of pain, complaints and anger on the tip of his tongue  – and then the pain was gone, as though it had never been.

 

Also gone was their hand, Fero twisted, reaching out blindly in the darkness, but the only thing behind him was the sharp, cold gems of the cave wall. 

 

Fero stayed still in the darkness for a long while, listening for movement over the sound of his heartbeat, before he felt around for his flint. He carefully coaxed a small flame back into his lantern, holding it up to look around the cave. 

 

All was still. 

 

The shoulder that the voice's hand had been on itched, a prickly hot feeling, and Fero pulled at the collar of his shirt to check it. There, spreading across the skin of his shoulder, was a mark that looked like gemstones, the same gemstones that lined the cave’s walls. 

 

“So you will not forget,” said the voice again.

 

It seemed to be coming from the floor of the cave, the vibrations of it rattling Fero's teeth. 

 

“Trust me,” said Fero, “I don't think I'd forget something like this.”

 

“Good,” said the voice, “Enjoy your new home. You will be safe here.”

 

Fero stayed awake, but the voice didn't come again. The itching in his shoulder lessened, and he ran his hand over the mark, tracing the lines of the gems on his skin. 

 

The voice spoke true, and Fero was safe in his cave home for many years, until a series of misguided life choices and a thunderstorm drove a very scared, very wet Lem King into his cave. 

 

Lem’s waterlogged shoes slapped on the cave floor, alerting Fero to his presence long before Lem made it down to where Fero sat. Fero held his dagger loosely in his hand, leaning back in his chair as he waited. 

 

The orc stumbled in, leaning his back against the wall the door and closing his eyes, violin clutched tightly to his chest. 

 

“Y’know,” said Fero, “it's pretty rude to barge into someone’s house without invitation.”

 

Lem jumped, his eyes snapping open.

 

“I  – well, you see, it's-” high above them thunder rumbled, and Lem jumped again, his gaze flicking to the cave entrance and back to Fero. He put Fero in mind of a wounded bird, trapping itself in a corner as it tried to get away.

 

“I get it,” said Fero, keeping his voice light, “I mean, it’s raining pretty hard out there.”

 

“Uh,” said Lem, “Yes. It is.”

 

“Don’t want that violin to get damaged in the rain,” said Fero, “It looks like a special one.”

 

“Yes,” said Lem, “Yes, I... it’s… it’s….” He swallowed. “It’s a very special violin, you see, that’s why I had to take it. I couldn’t  _ leave _ it there, to go to waste like that, that would be… so you see I  _ had  _ to take it, and now they’re… he’s… they’re  _ after _ me.”

 

“They’re after you?” said Fero.

 

“Yes,” said Lem, nodding quickly, “Yes, exactly.”

 

Fero’s shoulder itched, and he rubbed at it through his shirt. “And you need a place to stay?”

 

Lem looked at him shyly. “Yes, I… that would be.... Could I?”

 

Fero grinned up at him. “Sure!” 

 

He gestured to the seat opposite him. Cautiously, Lem sat down on the too-small chair, setting down his pack but keeping the violin clutched tightly in his hands. The chair creaked a little under his weight but settled. 

 

Fero nodded to himself. Very good work even if he did say so himself. And he did, even if he only said so to an empty room these days. 

 

“So then what are you going to do?” said Fero.

 

Lem blinked. “What?”

 

Fero leant forward in his chair. “After you hang out here, what are you going to do after that?”

 

“Well, I’m, I… oh,” said Lem, his eyes going wide, “Oh no. Oh jeez. I don’t know. I don’t know. Oh gods.” He looked down at the violin in his hands. “What have I  _ done _ , I… I…”

 

He covered his face with one of his hands, turning away from Fero as he took deep shuddering breaths, his shoulders shaking. His other hand kept a white-knuckled grip on the violin.

 

Fero felt his shoulder prickle again, this time with an insistent warmth. He reached under his shirt to scratch at it, feeling the slight-but-familiar raised lines of his gemstone mark.

 

“I don’t know what I’m going to  _ do _ ,” gasped Lem, still turned away from Fero, “I don’t know how to get to Velas. I don’t even know how to get out of this  _ forest _ .”

 

The feeling under Fero’s skin grew hotter, sharper.

 

_ Oh _ , thought Fero.

 

He reached out, his fingers curling in the loose weave of Lem's jumper. 

 

“Hey, it's okay,” said Fero, “I can show you the way out of the forest.”

 

Lem looked up, his cheeks blotchy. “Really?”

 

The sharp feeling in his shoulder faded, and in its place was the spreading feeling of warmth, the heat of the sun against a stone wall.

 

“Sure,” said Fero, feeling more confident with every breath that this was the right choice, “I mean, it seems like you could use the help.”

 

Lem took a shuddering breath. “I really could.”

 

Fero smiled, trying to look his most encouraging. “Everything’s gonna be fine, buddy. We'll wait until the rain stops, and then we'll head out. And if anyone tries anything, I’ve got your back.”

  
  


**little bird, visiting: fero/adelaide**

After Nacre, Fero has dreams. He doesn't mention them to Hella and Lem - Hella gets this sharp look her eye when any conversation even brushes against Narce, and trying to talk to Lem about Nacre just makes Lem  _ sigh  _ and look into the middle distance. Both of their responses set his teeth on edge. Anyway. They're just dreams, right? So what does it matter. 

 

They’re always the same: he closes his eyes and opens them again in a pristine, silent version of Nacre. It's not silent like the comforting silence of a forest, with the soft sounds of the wind through leaves and small creatures going about their business. It's the silence of a held breathe, a silence that's waiting for something, pressing down on him as he wanders the empty city. 

 

Tonight he follows the same path as always, through the empty streets and towards the empty palace. His footsteps should echo through the streets but they make no sound. He can feel his heart pounding as he walks up the shining staircase, but he can't hear it. 

 

And then. A sound. 

 

Fero freezes, just in case he’s imagining things. But there it is again, the soft rustling of papers amplified by the empty hallways. He follows the sound up, and up, and up. When he reaches the course of the sound the door is ajar, an open invitation of sorts.

 

There, seated at her writing desk is Adelaide Triste. Her silk skirts are spread out around her like waves breaking against the ornately carved wooden legs of her chair.

 

“Ah,” she says, not looking up from her writing, “little bird, you have returned again.”

 

Her voice is soft, but the sound of it feels amplified in the silent space. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing.

 

“I'm not trying to,” says Fero. It’s hard to speak, as though he has to push more air out of his lungs to make a sound. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

 

Adelaide hums, finishing the line she’s writing before she looks up. She looks a little tired, like she did when he saw her before the trial. Her expression has a fixed quality to it, like a marble statue. Fero tries not to fidget under her gaze.

 

“I must admit,” says Adelaide, “it is much quieter here than I expected. It’s hard to hear anything over the silence.”

 

“Are you here all the time?” asks Fero.

 

“I am,” says Adelaide, “and I am not.”

 

Fero groans. “That’s not an answer.”

 

The corner of Adelaide’s mouth quirks upwards slightly for just a moment before her expression melts back to it’s impassive calm.

 

“It is the answer that I have to give you,” says Adelaide.

 

“Ugh,” says Fero.

 

Adelaide stands, her skirts flowing around her as she steps away from her desk towards the window. Fero moves to stand next to her, going up on tiptoes to look out across the silent city.

 

“When the city and I were alive, I knew the name of every person who resided in it,” says Adelaide.

 

“Cities aren’t  _ alive _ ,” says Fero.

 

“Of course they are,” says Adelaide, “if they were not, you couldn’t live in them.”

 

Fero wrinkles his nose, looking up at her. “Is that a riddle?”

 

The corners of Adelaide’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. 

 

She keeps looking out at the city, and Fero turns his gaze outward to, pushing his palms against the windowsill to lift himself further up. The city looks so strange without people. There have been plenty of times that Fero has flown far above cities, until the hurried movements of people faded away, but even then you could still see the movement, the pulse of life that ran through thoroughfares, trickling out into the outer suburbs of a city. Nacre had been the same, the few times he’d flown above it.

 

Behind the shining towers of Narce the sun is setting into the ocean, a brilliant orange against the blue. Fero watches it for a little while, until his arms start to get tired and he has to lower himself back down to touch the ground. He leans his chin in his hand.

 

“I was expecting this,” says Adelaide, “but I admit, I can see why my brother took such lengths to avoid this duty.”

 

“I thought he went on the run because of your dad?” says Fero. 

 

Adelaide frowns slightly, continuing to look out over the city. Fero wonders if maybe he's misunderstood the situation. It wouldn't be the first time - people don't talk through their plans in details with him even when he's involved in them, and he's not the best at putting together details from third-hand sources. 

 

“There were a number of reasons Angelo ran away from us,” says Adelaide finally.

 

“Well of this was one of the reasons I get it,” says Fero, “this place is totally creepy.”

 

“I imagine death seems that way when you are not from Nacre,” says Adelaide. 

 

“I mean sometimes, but it's more like  – wait, death?” Fero looks up at her sharply. “No, I'm just asleep, this is just a weird dream I've been having.”

 

Adelaide nods. “Sometimes death is referred to as the final sleep.”

 

The quiet presses down on Fero, into his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

 

“But I don't want to be dead!” says Fero, “I- wait, are you messing with me?”

 

The corners of Adelaide's eyes crinkle again. “Perhaps.”

 

“Hey!” says Fero, “I didn't know that was something you did.”

 

Adelaide laughs. It's soft, and over in a moment, but it makes some warmth return to the afternoon sun. 

 

“I suppose I am making two exceptions for you then little bird,” says Adelaide, “Or, three, considering I also let you leave my city.”

 

Fero tilts his head to one side as he looks up at her. “Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

 

Adelaide inclines her head. “You are welcome.”

 

Fero boosts himself up again on his palms so he can catch the sun as it sinks below the waves. He kicks his feet back and forth a little, toes scraping the polished floor. 

 

“Hey,” says Fero, “does this mean we're going to hang out every time I have this dream?”

 

“No,” says Adelaide, “I imagine I will much too busy soon. And I have other people to visit.”

 

“Oh,” says Fero, keeping his voice breezy. “That's okay. I have people to visit too.”

 

Adelaide looks down at him. “Do you?”

 

“Yeah, I…” Fero’s throat feels tight. “We're going to Rosemerrow, and I'm from there, so. Lots of people to see.”

 

Adelaide hums thoughtfully but doesn't press further. The sun slips further under the waves, the thin rays of light blocked by the city. It makes the room feel colder almost immediately, goosebumps breaking out on Fero's arms. 

 

“Well. You'd best be going then, hadn't you?”

 

Fero looks back up, but she's gone. 

 

“Wait-” says Fero. 

 

Or rather, he tries to say that. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. The city has returned to silence again. He cannot even hear his heart. 

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again he's looking at the thatched roof of the inn he and Lem are staying at. 

 

Fero swallows hard, listening to the sounds of the city, to Lem's faint snores, to his own pounding heartbeat. He rolls over, watching Lem's chest move up and down in time with the sound, until it's time for them to leave. 

  
  


**let feelings flow: fero/severea**

The woods were much colder than they should be this time of year. Whenever Fero passed by a frozen stream or a bare tree he remembered what it used to look like. He tried to hold the image of it in his mind to keep himself warm. He had a long way to go, after all, and no one else to keep him warm on this journey. 

 

Which was fine. He used to take many journeys alone. He'd only travelled with people again for a few years. Finding his old habits would be easy enough. Once he got into the rhythm again he wouldn't even miss any one them. Or their stupid violins. 

 

He kicked at a rock, sending it bouncing off against the frozen ground. The sound of it echoed off the empty trees around him. Distantly, he heard the sound of a bird fluttering away. Fero looked up, trying to spot it in the dark sky. 

 

Gods, he missed being a bird. Being a big creature was its own fun too, of course, but nothing beat flying high above everything, feeling the rush of wind under you, using the currents to glide higher, go faster. Fero felt a familiar itch in his mind, the kind that came before feathers sprouted. He could get to the Mark of the Erasure so much faster if he just-

 

Fero curled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. No. Not until he could make sure it wouldn't go wrong again. He just had to fix things, which he totally could, by himself, because his plan was the best, and then they would all be sorry, wouldn't they, sorry that they hadn't listened to his very good plan instead of just disregarding him out of hand. Sorry that they hadn't come with him on his much better, much more successful quest. 

 

Sorry that they'd left him behind. Again. 

 

Fero shook himself. Walking wasn't as fast as flying, but standing in the cold glaring in the ground wasn’t helping him get there any faster either. He trudged on, trying to ignore the itching at the back of his mind, begging him to give into the impulse to take flight. 

 

“When I said you should be more thoughtful about my gifts,” said a voice above him, “I didn't mean you should ignore them entirely.”

 

Fero looked around him at the bare trees. The hair on the back of his neck raised, and he twisted around, tilting his head up. 

 

Severea lounged along a tree branch above him, her robes rippling in the still air. Despite the precariousness of her position she looked at ease, one arm tucked under her head and the other dangling below her. 

 

Fero shifted his feet, clumsily trying to copy the ease of her position with his cold, stiff limbs. 

 

“Well you seemed pretty mad last time I saw you,” said Fero.

 

“You have never struck me as the kind of person who avoids making people mad,” said Severea, “that's why I chose you in the first place.”

 

“Yeah, about that,” said Fero, “you couldn't have told me that was you?”

 

Severea gave him a small smile. “When you seemed so pleased thinking you'd done it all on your own? I'm not in the business of denying people their knowledge.”

 

Fero made a face. “I guess that's better than whatever it is Hadrian's got going on.”

 

Severea laughed. It reminded Fero of spring somehow - birds waking up and the sound of a stream starting to thaw and flow again. 

 

“Hadrian is...a special case.”

 

Fero frowned. “He's not so special.”

 

Severea sighed, shifting to sit up on the branch, her legs dangling beneath her. “This is what I meant Fero. Fighting against things is fine, it’s even admirable, for the most part. But you should not fight against everything, especially things you know nothing about.”

 

Fero felt a different kind itch than the one that drove him to change his shape, hot and irritated in his throat. 

 

“Because no one  _ tells  _ me anything!” said Fero, “How can I know what Hadrian's dumb situation is if he never tells me?! How am I supposed to know which are the things I should be fighting against if you never even talked to me before now?!”

 

“By  _ listening _ ,” said Severea. 

 

Fero groaned. “I can't listen to  _ everyone _ , they're so boring. Even the people I like, they just go on and on, pattern this, cursed sword that-”

 

Severea sighed again, sliding easily down the tree to stand in front of him. She seemed taller than the last time he'd seen her, her lean body bending slightly down towards him like a tree in the wind.

 

“This is exactly what I meant,” said Severea, “you're tuning people out.”

 

“No I'm not,” said Fero quickly. 

 

“Yes, you are,” said Severea, “Come, sit with me awhile.”

 

She turned, walking away from him and Fero scrambled to follow. There was a small fire around a bend, where there had certainly not been one when Fero had come that way before. The snow around it had melted, just a little, to reveal small shoots of bright green grass. A small patch of spring in the winter.

 

Severea sat on one of the large, smooth stones next to the fire, gesturing for Fero to sit on the one next to her. He pointedly sat on her other side. Severea pressed her lips together, the corners of her eyes crinkling. 

 

“I'm not tuning people out,” said Fero, “they're tuning  _ me  _ out.”

 

“If these people are so awful,” said Severea, “then why did you follow them for so long?”

 

Fero fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “Because they were my friends. I had to keep hi- keep  _ them  _ out of trouble.”

 

Severea hummed. “And that's not a concern of yours now?”

 

“They left me,” said Fero, “they didn't  _ want  _ my help.”

 

“Now Fero,” said Severea, her eyes crinkling again, “You should know better than anyone, sometimes when someone says they don't want help, they might not mean it.”

 

Fero swallows around the lump in his throat. “No, they definitely meant it. Just like I meant it when I left.”

 

Severea hummed. “And what about when you told me you didn't want my help? Did you mean it then?”

 

“I always mean what I say,” said Fero, trying to remember what exactly he'd said to her and Galencia at the camp. 

 

“If that is how you feel,” said Several evenly, “then I can take those abilities back.”

 

“Please don't,” said Fero quickly.

 

“Don't what?”

 

Fero swallowed, trying to will away the lump in his throat, the hot prickling sensation in his eyes. Severea waited, her face still. Her hand dropped gracefully down to her lap.

 

“Please don't take it away,” said Fero, feeling the words stick in his throat, “I don't… I don't have anything else left.”

 

Fero looked down, twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt. Severea’s neatly stitched shoes were a stark contrast to his grubby bare feet. 

 

Severea reached over to cover his hands with one of her's. Fero flinched.

 

“I am not in the business of stripping away blessings either,” said Severea, “but I have no wish for unwilling followers.”

 

“Everyone I've ever followed left,” said Fero, “I’m starting to get the idea that I'm not very good at it.”

 

“Perhaps it’s that they were not meant to be followed,” said Severea. She paused. “You shouldn't let the opinion of one orc sway you so much.”

 

Fero looked up at her sharply. His cheeks flared with heat and he tried to will his blush away under Severea’s knowing gaze.

 

“I don't care what he thinks,” said Fero, his voice hoarse.

 

Severea smiled down at him. Her eyes didn't crinkle this time. “I thought you always meant what you said.”

 

“I do,” said Fero, “I mean- and he just!!... So why should I care what he thinks about anything?”

 

“Why indeed,” said Severea. 

 

She kept looking down at him, waiting for an answer. Fero sucked his bottom lip in, trying to stop the words from escaping.

 

“He just… he was my  _ friend _ ,” said Fero, feeling the words burst out of his chest, “I thought- He used to listen to me, you know?”

 

“That is the way sometimes too,” said Severea, “not every follower is a follower forever.”

 

“And you’re just cool with that?” said Fero, “People just  _ leaving _ ?”

 

“Sometimes it is for the best,” said Severea. “Is it for the best for you Fero?”

 

“No,” said Fero, “It pretty much just sucks.”

 

He wasn’t entirely sure whether he meant losing his powers or seeing Lem disappear in front of his eyes. Both left a hollow feeling in his chest.

 

“Then I do not have to leave,” said Severea simply.

 

Fero’s eyes stung and he ducked his head, quickly blinking away tears.

 

“It sounds so easy when you say it,” said Fero, his voice scratchy.

 

“Sometimes it is,” said Severea, “You have always felt a very easy choice for me to make.”

 

“Oh,” said Fero softly.

 

He wiped at his eyes, looking up at her. Severea smiled.

 

She shifted closer, leaning over him to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Go forth, my little bird, and remember that even when I am not with you that you are following me.” 

 

Severea ran her hand through Fero’s hair, her touch chasing away the cold as surely as the fire. Fero let his eyes slip closed.

 

“When you feel that you have followed me long enough, we will have another talk then,” said Severea. “But until that time, you do not have to fear abandonment from me. I will be there when you have need of me.”

  
  


**at the tower: fero/samot**

Fero was tired, so, so tired. He's been walking for hours. Days, maybe  – in the constant snow, with no sun, it was hard to tell. He would give anything to be able to lie down and go to sleep, but it was far too cold for that, and there was no shelter to be found. 

 

The ground began to slope upwards. Fero groaned, feeling the ache in his legs with every movement. As he got closer to the small ridge, he could see light. It looked too warm to be moonlight. It could be safety, but more likely it was a trap. At least it gave him something to think about as he trudged on and on, inch by inch, in the deep snow. 

 

It was such a small thing, in the end  – he tripped, over a frozen tree root or maybe just a patch where the ground was uneven in a way he wasn't expecting it. Fero tried to pull himself up, he really did, pushing at the cold ground with trembling arms. Weakly, he flopped back down, feeling the snow soak through his clothing. He blinked at the warm light in the distance. Was it even any closer than it had been before? 

 

“Hey,” said Fero. 

 

He'd meant to yell it, but his voice came out too ragged and scratchy to hold much volume. Fero swallowed, his throat aching. He took a few deep breaths, swallowed again. People were always complaining that he was too loud. He just had to focus for this, the one time it might actually help him. 

 

“Hey! If anyone's there! I could really use a hand!”

 

The warm light stayed where it was. 

 

Fero legs felt so heavy he almost thought he'd sunk into the ground. He tried again the push himself up. His hands stung as he pushed them into the snow, but even the pain didn't really help wake him up. He collapsed back down. It was so much easier to just lie down. It was much easier to just close his eyes, and let the numb feeling spread up his legs, to his chest, to his arms, as though his body itself was disappearing into the black. 

 

Dimly, he heard the sound of crunching snow underfoot, and felt fur wrapped around him, and then settling down somewhere warmer. If this was death, then it didn't feel so bad. 

 

Fero's eyes flicked open. The first thing he was was the warm light of a fire, the bright heat of it seeming almost unnatural now it he was so close to it. The second thing he saw was a man, dropped in the same soft white fur Fero was wrapped in. Fero looked around, trying to focus despite the spinning feeling in his head. There was much less snow on the ground here, the wind lacked the bite it had had. There were even small patches of flowers here and there, as though he'd awoken in a different season altogether. 

 

He struggled to sit up and the man looked at him, eyes gleaming with a strange violet light. 

 

“You should rest,” said the man, softly, “You were in a bad way when I found you, and you are still.”

 

“I can rest sitting up,” said Fero, flailing around weakly until he found something he could lean against. 

 

It was a cold, flat something  – the remains, Fero saw, of a tower, the large stone blocks scattered around the base and throwing strange shadows in the moonlight.

 

The man held up a flask, offering it to Fero. 

 

“Oh, no thanks,” said Fero, “I don't need to eat, so, y'know, I'm good.”

 

“Ah,” said the man, “I used to be like that once.”

 

Fero squinted at him, all clean, fine robes and spotless white fur. “You used to be a druid?”

 

“No. But I remember how it felt to subside off less... tangible things.”

 

The man grinned, amused, which was sort of weird but he  _ had  _ sort of saved Fero's life, probably, so Fero wasn't going to begrudge him an inside joke with himself or two. Strange times breed strange people and stranger friendships as they say. 

 

Fero peered at the tower, tracing the way in sunk into the earth as though it was being slowly sucked down into it, the way vines reached up from the ground to pull it further down. 

 

“Hey, uh, do you mind if I ask you a question?” said Fero.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

The man laughed. “It is not often someone stumbles here without meaning to.”

 

“I didn't,” said Fero, “I just woke up here.”

 

“Ah,” said the man, “I suppose you're right. This is what people call the Mark of the Erasure.”

 

“Oh,” said Fero, “That's handy.”

 

The man's brow furrowed. “What?”

 

“Well, that's where I was trying to get to,” said Fero, “before I, y'know… “

 

He mimed collapsing with his hands. 

 

“What were you looking to find here?”

 

Fero shrugged. “Dunno. Something to....something that would help. With everything.” He paused. “Why are you here? Do you live here?”

 

The man laughed again, short, like it was being surprised out of him. “No, no one lives here. Although, I suppose in a way some version of all of us lives here-”

 

“Ugh,” said Fero, “Riddles.”

 

“-but I am like you, in a way. I was hoping to find something that would help.”

 

“Cool,” said Fero, “we can help each other look. Stuff’s always easier to find with more people.”

 

The man peered at him over the fire. “You would help me try?”

 

“Sure,” said Fero, “I mean, that's what I came to do too.”

 

“Well,” began the man, then stopped, huffing a laugh and running a hand through his long blond hair. “I normally have to give more of a speech than that.”

 

“I'm not really big into speeches,” said Fero. 

 

“Yes,” said the man, “I'm getting that.”

 

“Well what are we waiting for,” said Fero, “let's go!”

 

He moved to stand, letting the cloak the man had wrapped him in fall to the ground, wobbling on his legs before pitching forward. The man caught him before he hit the fire, the fur slipping from his shoulder a little as he wrapped an arm around Fero's waist. 

 

Fero blinked up at him. “Oh. Thanks.”

 

“You should rest a little more before we look,” said the man, not making any move to let go of him. 

 

Although it was warmer by the tower than he had been out in the snow, there was still a cold breeze, more noticeable now that he wasn't wrapped in the borrowed cloak. He leant closer to the man, gravitating towards the warmth of him. 

 

Fero pulled the edge of the fur cloak that had slipped from the man's shoulder, so that it covered him too. The man huffed a laugh, shifting slightly to sit on the ground. He picked Fero up easily, his thin arms surprisingly strong and solid as he lifted Fero into his lap. He pulled the cloak around his shoulders, covered Fero with its thick warmth. Fero wriggled a little, settling, before he stilled, leaning his head against the man's chest.

 

The man huffed a laugh, bringing a hand up to card through Fero's snow-damp hair. “I have known many wild creatures in my time, but I think perhaps you are one of the strangest.”

 

“I'm not that strange,” said Fero, “ _ you're _ strange.”

 

“I suppose I am.”

 

The man continued to card his hand through Fero's hair, gently untangling knots and occasionally pulling out the small leaves and twigs that had joined Fero on his journey. Fero felt his eyes slip closed. 

 

“This is nice,” said Fero, “I haven’t done this since… “

 

He stopped, biting his lip as memories rose to the top of his mind.

 

“Since?”

 

“Since, um, I used to travel, for a while, with this orc, and sometimes we'd- anyway. It's nice to sit like this.”

 

The man's hands faltered slightly before he continued his smooth pace through Fero's hair. “Yes, I... used to have someone like that too.”

 

Fero tilted his head up to look at the man. “I hope not. Mine was kind of a jerk.”

 

The man gave Fero a tight smile. “Sometimes he was. And sometimes I was. We'd fight about, oh, about everything. Poetry. History. Education. How to raise our son. What to make for dinner. It was wonderful, sometimes, and aggravating at others. And then… “ his eyes took on a distant look. “Well. You always think you'll have more time.”

 

“Yeah,” said Fero softly. He licked his lips. “There was just so much more I wanted to say, you know?”

 

The man hummed, softly. Fero felt the rumble in the man's chest more than he heard the noise itself. He seemed very tired, strain showing in the corners of his eyes where it hadn’t been before.

 

“Like, I wish I could have made sure he was actually listening,” said Fero, “when I told him he was a motherfucker.”

 

The man laughed, the bright surprised laugh of before, and Fero grinned. It was a nice sound. Fero didn't know how long this guy was planning on sticking around, but he was definitely going to make it his mission to get him to laugh like that as much as possible. It seemed like he needed it.

 

“Well he is!” said Fero, “And how's he gonna learn if I'm not there to tell him!” Fero struggled to keep the grin on his face, worry creeping into the pit of his stomach. “How am I supposed to teach him if he's so far away?”

 

His voice came out much quieter than he'd meant to and he looked away, back down towards the edge of the fire. He twisted the fur of the cloak in his fingers, trying to put his focus on the soft fur instead of the memory of Lem’s face as he was pulled away. 

 

The man cupped Fero's cheek, tilting his face up. His hand was warm and Fero leant into his touch like he had leant into the man's chest earlier. Fero felt himself flush, forcing himself to meet the man's gaze. There wasn’t as much pity there as he had feared.

 

“Distance is hard,” said the man, “but Hieron is not so large. And you seem very determined. Sometimes that can be half the battle.”

 

Fero swallowed. “What's the other half?”

 

The man hummed. “When you discover that, let me know. I know I have certainly tried many different things over the years.”

 

Fero huffed a laugh, his breath forming a small cloud over the man's palm. “Like what?”

 

“Oh, many things, some of which aren’t possible anymore.” His thumb stroked lightly over Fero’s cheekbone. “Finding something to take your mind off it can be helpful.”

 

Fero tilted his head, the motion of it leaning him further into the man’s palm. “Walking all the way to the Mark of the Erasure wasn’t enough?”

 

The man huffed a laugh. “That is certainly one. But there can be more pleasurable distractions.”

 

Fero paused, considering him for a moment. Pleasurable distractions. Huh. On impulse, he pressed a kiss lightly to the man's palm. The man stilled under him, eyes flicking wide for a moment before going half-lidded. 

 

“Sorry,” said Fero, “I- sometimes I don't think things all the way through.”

 

The man smiled, tilting his head down slightly, closer to Fero. “I often have the opposite problem myself. But I have know enough people with your particular affliction to know that we are compatible in certain areas.”

 

Fero's hands curled around the edges of the cloak as he lifted himself up a little, moving them closer still. “Oh? Which ones are those?”

 

The man leant down, pressing his lips to Fero's. Fero let himself sink into it for a moment, feeling the heat spread through him before he leant back. The man’s cheeks were flushed faintly pink. 

 

“Wait wait wait,” said Fero, “I have another question.”

 

The man stilled again, brow furrowing. 

 

Fero licked his lips. “What's your name?”

 

The man laughed again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Samot.”

 

Fero let go of Samot's cloak, holding his hand out. “Nice to meet you Samot. I'm Fero.”

 

Samot laughed again, shaking Fero's hand before tugging him forward, twining their fingers together tightly as they kissed. Fero leant up as far as he could, tangling his hands in Samot's silken hair. Samot sighed into his mouth, the sound of it turning into a groan as Fero pulled. 

 

Samot shifted, pulling Fero on top of him as he lay down. Fero was more than happy to follow him down, grinding down onto Samot's arousal, swallowing Samot's groan. Samot’s hands pulled at the fabric of Fero’s shirt, and Fero shivered at how his hands hot through the fabric. Fero ran his hands over Samot’s chest delighting in the pink flush spreading down his neck.

 

Samot slid his hands under Fero's still-damp clothes, his nails scratching down Fero's back. Fero moaned, mouthing down Samot's chin to suck a bruise under his jaw. Samot arched, baring more of his neck for Fero's mouth to go to work on. Fero did, following Samot’s wordless direction as he kissed his way down Samot's body, pausing to give particular attention to the patches that made Samot writhe under him. 

 

He settled in between Samot's legs, nuzzling the bulge in Samot's pants before moving back a little, leaning his head against Samot's thigh. Samot huffed, glaring down the lines of his body at Fero.

 

Slowly, deliberately, Fero laid his hands on the flat of Samot's stomach, the tips of his thumbs just brushing against the waistband of Samot's pants. He peeled Samot's pants down slowly, kissing along one of Samot's inner thighs and then the other. 

 

He sat back, ready to do the same again only this time with a much more smug expression. Samot's hand, which had been clutching at the lining of his cloak, suddenly gripped Fero's hair like a vice. Fero made a sound between a gasp and a moan, the sharp tug of heat on his hair going straight between his thighs. 

 

Samot repeated the motion, slower this time, sitting up slightly, his eyes never leaving Fero's face. He cupped his other hand over Fero gently. Fero bit his lip, trying to muffle the sound.

 

“If you continue to tease me,” said Samot, “I will do the same to you tenfold.”

 

“Okay, yeah, no more teasing,” said Fero, panting a little, “seems fair.”

 

Samot let go of his hair, leaning back down, and Fero whined at the lost contact. Samot chuckled, threading his finger through Fero's hair much more gently than before. 

 

“Very well,” said Samot, “in this moment, there is no reason for us both to not get what we what.”

 

Fero followed the press of Samot's hand, bending to take Samot's length in his mouth, shivering at the sensation of Samot's nails scraping over his scalp. Fero moaned around him, digging his fingers into the meat of Samot's thighs. Samot groaned, one hand tugging on Fero's hair and the other flung wide, his fingers digging into the dirt. Fero could see it, just on the edges of his vision, Samot's pale skin against the dark ground. 

 

Samot tugged on his hair again, more insistent, and Fero's world narrowed the sensation of Samot around him, of Samot inside him, as Samot arched his hips. He dug his fingers in deeper, leaving scratches on Samot’s thigh and Samot responded in kind, the sharp pain of Fero’s scalp making his toes curl. 

 

The heat between his thighs throbbed in time with his motions as he took Samot deeper into his mouth. Samot shuddered, hips losing their rhythm, clutching at Fero’s shoulder as though to anchor himself. Fero felt the bitter taste flood his mouth, swallowing down as much as he could before he let Samot’s spent cock drop from his lips.

 

He leant back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking over Samot as he lay panting beneath Fero, cheeks flushed and golden hair spread out underneath him like a halo of light. Samot smiled up at him, pulling at Fero's shoulder until he lay down next to him. He pressed a kiss to Fero's lips, soft at first but building in heat and he stroked down Fero's body. Fero shivered, wriggling closer to press against Samot, slinging his leg over Samot waist to rut against him. 

 

Samot hummed, biting at Fero's bottom lip. He slipped his arm around Fero's side, flipping Fero so that he was lying on his back on top of Samot. The night sky was dark above them, the few remaining pinpricks of starlight sparse in the expanse. Fero wriggled again but Samot held him firm, the arm around his waist like iron. With his other hand, Samot began to touch him lightly through the fabric, long fingers circling between his thighs. 

 

Fero whined, hips bucking up towards Samot’s hand. “I thought you didn't like teasing?”

 

Samot huffed a laugh, his breath against Fero's ear. The sensation of it made Fero shudder. 

 

“I said _ I _ do not like to be teased. Teasing  _ others  _ on the other hand... “

 

He pressed the heel of his palm against Fero, letting Fero arch up against his touch for a moment before his fingers danced away, ghosting over Fero's stomach. Fero squirmed, his hands clutching at Samot's cloak beneath them. 

 

“I thought you said we could both-  _ oh _ \- we could both get what we want,” whined Fero.

 

Samot paused from where he was pressing a line of kisses along Fero's jaw to whisper into his ear. “And what is it you want Fero?”

 

His fingers trailed their way down Fero's body, running lightly along the waistband of his pants, leaving lines of fire in their wake. Fero swallowed a gasp. 

 

“You,” said Fero, “I- your fingers,  _ please _ .”

 

Samot chuckled. “Since you're so polite.”

 

He loosened Fero's pants, wriggling his hand inside. He slid his fingers lazily along Fero's opening until Fero whined, hips arching as best he could with Samot's arm still around his waist, holding him in place. Finally,  _ finally, _ he slid a finger inside Fero, crooking just shy of giving Fero enough sensation. He whined again, pressing his face into the crook of Samot’s neck.

 

Fero squeezed his eyes shut. “Please.”

 

Samot stroked him lazily. “Please what?”

 

Fero nuzzled his face against Samot's skin. “Please, I- I don't want to look at the stars. I want to look at  _ you _ .”

 

Samot stilled for a moment, then shifted under Fero slightly, relaxing his hold on Fero a fraction so Fero could tilt himself to look up at Samot's face. The light of the flames caught on Samot's hair, giving it an almost unearthly glow  –  not like the star that fell to earth has had, a warm, friendly light. The kind of light that had drawn Fero in when he was trudging through a snowstorm. 

 

Fero reached up and trailed his fingertips lightly along Samot's jaw. Samot's breath hitched, and he pressed a light kiss to Fero's forehead, his finger continuing to work Fero open. 

 

Fero tilted his face up, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses up Samot’s neck. He felt Samot smile as he added a second finger, swallowing the sound of Fero’s moans as he scissored him open. 

 

Samot circled Fero’s clit with his thumb, sending sparks shuddering through Fero’s body. Samot wasn’t teasing, the motion of his fingers making it hard to draw breath, making it feel impossible to do anything but arch towards Samot’s hand, chasing the sensation. Samot tightened his grip on Fero’s waist as he sped the pace of his fingers. Fero could do little more than moan, panting into Samot’s skin as Samot drove him over the edge.

 

Samot relaxed his grip on Fero, letting Fero slip into the crook of his arm and wrapping his cloak so the it covered his body. Fero wriggled closer, his movements clumsy as he nuzzled his face into Samot’s shoulder. Samot’s arm stayed wrapped around his side, loose and warm.

 

Samot pressed a kiss to the top of Fero’s head. “That certainly was a pleasant distraction.”

 

“A distraction from what,” Fero mumbled against Samot’s shoulder, “I don’t even remember what we were talking about.”

 

Samot laughed, and Fero could feel the warm vibration of it travel through him, warming him from the inside out like friendly firelight in his chest. 

  
  


**in dreams: fero/samothes**

The Mark of the Erasure was strange. He’d only been half paying attention when the others had talked about their experiences there, and it had definitely  _ sounded _ pretty weird, but hearing about someone’s experience and walking into a room and being in a different world were two  _ very _ different things.

 

Outside the room, Fero had been walking down a corridor (well, walking down the wall of a corridor because of how the tower had fallen) picking his way over cracked stone and rusted torches, when he’d come across a door that looked different than the others  – not better-kept, it looked just as weathered as the other doors, but something about it seemed different. The finishing on the doors mental hinges was just a  _ little  _ bit finer, the carvings on the door had just a  _ little _ bit more detail than the others. 

 

Fero brought his own small torch closer to get a better look, running his fingers over the swirling patterns of wolves and roses, admiring the work. Whoever had made this door had been a  _ much _ better craftsman than whoever had made the other doors. Possibly this door had been the original and the rest had been copies.

 

He straightened, looking critically at the door handle. Adaire had told him once that the better the door, the better the stuff was behind it. That seemed as good of a way to start checking doors as any.

 

When he tried the handle, it wasn’t even locked.

 

The first thing Fero noticed was the warm breeze, washing over him. It pushed the door shut behind him, but Fero barely took note of it. The room he’d stepped inside was large, neatly furnished but obviously lived in  – the remains of a meal sat on a table overlooking a large window, the bed half-made, as though whoever the room belonged to had been trying to neaten things up before they’d left.

 

Fero stepped further into the room, peering out the window. It overlooked the courtyard of the building, which lead out towards a small city. People passed through the archway of the courtyard, coming and going about their business. That made sense, it must be nearing midday with how high the sun was in the sky  –

 

His thoughts stopped short as he looked up to the sky. The sun.  _ Oh _ .

 

Fero closed his eyes, tilting his face up towards the brightness. He’d forgotten how warm it was. 

 

“Wait,” said Fero aloud, his eyes snapping open.

 

He rushed to the door, wrenching it open. 

 

Instead of leading him back to the dark corridor he’d come from, the door now leads into another bright room. This room is similar to the one he’d just come from, except this room isn’t empty.

 

A man, tall and broad and impossibly handsome, turns towards Fero from where he’d been leaning over some documents spread over a table. They are too far away for Fero to read but they look complicated, scrawled writing around swirling designs. The man blinks at Fero in surprise.

 

“Uh,” says Fero, “I have a good explanation?”

 

“Well, I suppose if it’s good I should hear it,” says the man.

 

He doesn’t sound angry, which Fero thinks is a good sign.

 

“It was sort of an accident,” says Fero, “I didn’t think the door would lead where it did.”

 

“I see,” says the man, “I suppose I am more curious about how you found your way to that door in the first place.”

 

“Oh, well,” says Fero. He hesitates for a moment, trying to find something that sounds more believable than the truth. “I was in this old tower, and I thought, ‘Man this door looks weird, I should check that out,’ and then,” Fero gestures around himself vaguely, “Here I am.”

 

“The door looked strange to you?” says the man. He still doesn’t sound angry, but he is frowning.

 

“Yeah,” says Fero, “Like, it was way nicer than the other doors. The design was pretty much the same but it was like, way better.”

 

“You must have a good eye to spot such a thing,” says the man.

 

Fero puffs out his chest a little. “I’ve made a couple of things in my time. I like to think I can spot superior craftsmanship.”

 

“Is that so?” says the man, smiling down at him, “Well then, I am flattered to pass such a critical eye.”

 

“Oh  _ you _ made it!” says Fero. “Hey, why’d you make it do that weird travel thing? I mean, I’m sure it’s great to cut down on time, but you should really put up a sign or something.”

 

“I… did not add that particular feature to it,” says the man.

 

“Oh…” says Fero, “Does that mean you can’t help me get back?”

 

“That depends on where you’d like to go.”

 

“I was at the Mark of the Erasure,” says Fero.

 

The man tilts his head to one side. “The Mark of the Erasure… that’s an unusual place to be.”

 

Fero shrugs. “We were trying to find something that could help with, y’know, everything.”

 

“We?”

 

“Yeah, me and this guy I met there, Samot.”

 

The man freezes. “Samot?”

 

Fero nods. “Yeah, why, do you know him?”

 

“I… yes,” the man swallows, “but I haven’t seen him for a very long time. I do not know if he would remember me as I remember him.”

 

“Sure he would!” says Fero, “He seemed like the kind of guy who has a great memory. I mean, he was telling me all about his ex and if he remembers all  _ that _ stuff, I’m sure he remembers you.”

 

“His ex-husband…” says the man faintly.

 

“Yeah, he said he’d been thinking about him a lot since the sun went away,” says Fero, “about how they used to fight a lot and that he misses him anyway.”

 

The man puts a hand behind him to rest on the desk. His other hand trembles a little as he runs it through his hair.

 

“Hey,” says Fero, taking a few steps towards him, “are you okay?”

 

“I didn’t think… I didn’t think he would still think of me,” says the man. His voice was soft, talking to himself more than Fero.

 

“Oh,  uh, yeah,” says Fero, “he does. Have you tried, like, writing to him or something? He seems really sad, honestly. I kind of thought from the way he talked about you that you were dead.”

 

The man sighs. “In a way I am.”

 

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean anything. I know plenty of people who are dead, and most of them are better at carrying on correspondence than people who are alive.”

 

The man huffs a laugh. “That may be true for those still in Hieron, but things are a little different here.”

 

“Wait, I’m not in Hieron right now?” says Fero.

 

“You are not,” says the man, “Not really.”

 

“ _ Not really _ ?” says Fero, “What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

 

“Hieron is made of layers and layers, each built upon its former self,” says the man, “I’m a little surprised Samot didn’t tell you, ordinarily he loves to pass on knowledge such as this.”

 

“We were busy doing other things,” says Fero, before his brain can stop his mouth. 

 

“Ah, yes,” says the man, “I remember he enjoyed passing on that knowledge also.”

 

Fero’s face heats up under the man’s gaze. The man smiles. He looks lighter than he did when Fero entered, his shoulders straight as he stands tall over Fero.

 

The man gestures to the table behind him. “As it is I do not think I can get you to the Mark of the Erasure, but I could get you to somewhere closer to Hieron than we currently are.”

 

“Great,” says Fero, “Where?”

 

“My father’s house is not too far from here,” says the man. He paused. “Or, it is far, but it is easy enough for me to send you there from here. I recently had visitors from there, so the pathway is a little more open than it was.”

 

“Visitors?” says Fero.

 

“Yes,” says the man, ”they may still be at my father’s when you arrive  – time passes differently here.”

 

“Ugh,” says Fero.

 

“If you do not like them, I’m sure they will be easy enough to avoid,” says the man.

 

“No meant-  _ ugh time bullshit _ , not  _ ugh visitors _ ,” says Fero, “I probably don’t know them, Hieron’s a big place.”

 

“Not really,” says the man, “Come.”

 

He leads Fero out of the door, into an open corridor, overlooking an inner courtyard. The air is warm, and Fero smells flowers on the wind. There is the distant sound of other voices far below them, a burbling, gentle sound. Fero can’t tear his gaze away from the bright blue sky.

 

The man stops at the end of the corridor, in front of another door. It looks very similar to the one Fero had come through earlier, only this one is newer, better maintained. The varnish gleams in the sunlight, highlighting the carvings and almost making them seem alive.

 

“You made this one too?” asks Fero.

 

The man smiles, inclining his head. “I built every room with my own hands.”

 

“That’s a big job for one person.”

 

“I have had a very long time to complete it,” says the man.

 

He lay a hand on the door. The sun catches his eye in such a way that, for just a moment, Fero could have sworn they  _ glowed _ .

 

“There. I cannot speak to my heart,” says the man, “but perhaps I can help you follow yours.”

 

He holds his hand out to Fero. His touch is warm and dry, and reminds Fero of the long-forgotten summer heat of his cave home, the comfort of it sinking into Fero’s bones.

 

“Your path lies on the other side,” says the man.

 

Fero looks from the door to the man. Both are impassive, giving nothing away. 

 

Fero lets out a long breath. “Okay. Okay, here goes nothing.”

 

Just as before, the door opens for him easily. Fero looks back as he steps through the door. 

 

Later, he wouldn’t remember so much of what the man looked like, just the vibrant blue of the sky and the sun, blazing bright behind him.

  
  


**an absence of deficiency: fero/samol**

Once Samol had talked them through the hard and difficult tasks that awaited them, they headed back towards the house. Samol remained seated.

 

“Fero,” said Samol, “take a walk with me.”

 

He held out a hand for Fero to help him up. Fero pulled him out of his seat. He didn’t weigh much, but then again, he wasn’t a big guy, and how much were gods supposed to weigh, anyway? They were concepts made flesh, really, and concepts didn’t weigh anything, they only carried weight in your mind.

 

Samol tilted his head towards the back of the garden, where the plants twisted, thicker and shadowed. Fero walked with him, helping to bear some of Samol’s weight.

 

“Where are we going?” said Fero.

 

Samol didn’t smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled a little. “You’ll see.”

 

They walked deeper into the garden. Fero couldn’t see the house anymore, thick, ancient trees and tangles of blackberries blocking his view. Samol was looking ahead, his gaze purposeful, so Fero figured he did actually have a destination in mind.

 

They made their way slowly around a large yew tree. There was a gap where the tree had split. Samol halted his steps, his hand pressing down a little on Fero’s shoulder to indicate that Fero should stop. Fero looked up at Samol.

 

Samol leant one hand on the tree, resting the side of his head against it as his looked down at Fero. “Here we are.”

 

“Okay,” said Fero, “Now what?”

 

“Look,” said Samol, gesturing towards the tree, “what do you see?”

 

Fero looked the tree over. It didn’t seem particularly out of the ordinary, it’s branches overhead, twisting to block out the light as they stretched away from the splitting trunk. Fero could see a little way into the hollow, but there didn’t seem to be anything special there either, just the dry old wood.

 

He looked back to Samol. “It’s just a tree?”

 

Samol patted the trunk of the tree. “This tree was one of the first I made. It was here before there was anything and it might even be here after everything. It’ll be here after me, that’s for sure.” He looked down at Fero. “There’ll be a lot to do, after, and most folks’ll be too busy to think of it, so I want you to take care of this tree.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Fero, “last time someone asked me to help them with their plant they didn’t like the outcome.”

 

Samol’s eyes went distant for a moment before they brightened again. He huffed a laugh. “Well I’ll give you a tip. Gardening is like most things. It works better when you listen.” 

 

He took Fero’s hand, pressing it against the trunk of the tree.

 

“What-”

 

Samol shushed him. “Listen.”

 

Fero tilted his head, ears straining for sound. He could only hear the branches high above them, rustling as they caught the breeze coming off the ocean.

 

“I don’t hear anything,” said Fero, “Is the tree supposed to talk?”

 

Samol huffed. “Close your eyes. Listen  _ properly _ .”

 

Fero made a face but dutifully closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate, focusing on the rough bark under his hand. Something in his mind began to glow, faintly at first, but brighter and brighter as he tried to pull it into his vision, until it surrounded him.

 

He blinked trying to clear his eyes. In front of him was a much younger Samol, kneeling on the bare earth, his hands hovering above the earth, drawing it higher and higher until a bright green shoot burst forth, leaves sprouting as it grew. The younger Samol grinned, laughing as he sat back, watching the yew tree grow taller.

 

Fero blinked, and found he was looking at his own hand again, the finger curled tightly against the bark. He looked up at Samol.

 

“The tree has seen many things and it remembers them all,” said Samol. “We are much alike, in that regard. If you need advice, or if you need someone who’s a good listener, I’ve always found this tree to be a good companion.”

 

Fero’s fingers twitched on the tree bark. There was life pulsing under his hand, now that he was listening for it. It felt like he was hearing a choir singing from far away, the music indistinct but hopeful.

 

“You’re not worried that I’ll mess this up and like, kill your tree?” said Fero.

 

Samol’s eyes crinkled as he smiled down at Fero. “There are things that I have made that cannot be unmade. This tree is one such thing.” He paused. “Besides, the tree will tell you if it needs help. All you have to do is listen, and you seem skilled enough at that.”

 

“Most people don’t think so,” said Fero, trying to keep his voice light.

 

“I ain’t most people,” said Samol, “I’ve seen you, always listening. Maybe not always acting on what you listen to properly, but that comes with experience. I have no doubts about passing this tree on to you.”

 

Fero swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’ll look after the tree.”

 

Samol patted the trunk once more before he straightened himself, nodding back the way they’d come.

 

“We’d best be getting back,” said Samol, prodding Fero in front of him, “Lead the way.”

 

The undergrowth was thick, a tangled mass of green broken up only by shafts of sunlight. Fero hesitated, looking back up at Samol.

 

Samol huffed a breath. “Listen.”

 

Fero closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he could see the path back in his mind’s eye. “This way.”

 

Samol nodded, and together they walked out of the forest and back towards the house, where the others waited for them. Samol stopped when they reached the group, sitting down on the old tree stump where he’d left his guitar.

 

“What were y’all talking about while we stepped out?” said Samol.

 

“The system of lacks,” said Hadrian, after a moment. “Ephrim’s not familiar.”

 

“Ah,” said Samol, “And what is your lack?”

 

“Belief,” said Ephrim.

 

“Ah,” said Samol, “Of course.”

 

Samol turned to Fero. With Samol sitting down, Fero was the only one at eye-level with him.

 

“I believe I know everyone’s lack here except yours,” said Samol. “What is your lack?”

 

Fero could feel the others behind him tense, irritation crawling up his spine. Lem put his hand on Fero’s shoulder and Fero wrinkled his nose, suppressing the urge to shake off Lem’s touch.

 

He'd been asked that question a few times since his arrival. So maybe he gave more than a few joking answers, it wasn’t as though it got them into _ that _ much trouble. And besides, it was fun to grin at whoever was asking, wide and bright, and say

 

“A fancy hat.”

 

Or

 

“A really good sandwich.”

 

Or

 

“Shoes.”

 

And listen, Fero knew it was a big deal of a question, but it was also none of their goddamn business. 

 

Not even if they were a god.

 

“My lack?” said Fero. 

 

“Yes,” said Samol, “what is your lack, little bird?”

 

The muscles in Fero's shoulders twitched under Lem’s hand. Samol’s gaze was steady and unwavering, boring into Fero’s. He had a soft, sad smile on his face, as though he already knew Fero’s answer. 

 

Fero’s  _ real _ answer.

 

He could hear his blood pounding in his ears. It felt like the words were being pulled out of his throat. “Mother Glory.”

 

Fero could feel the group look down towards him from where they had been looking away in annoyance or discomfort. Fero did not look away from Samol. His muscles twitched again under Lem’s hand.

 

Samol nodded, fingers tapping for a moment on his guitar. “You might want to talk to the tree about that. They’re never embarrassed.”

 

The silence of the garden was gentle, the distant hum of bees punctuated by bird calls. Samol blinked, and Fero looked down at his feet, scuffing them along the grass. He could feel the tree on the edge of his awareness, quietly waiting for him. It felt strangely comforting to know such an old thing would care to hear what he had to say.

 

Fero looked up, straightening his shoulders. Samol gave him a small nod.

 

“Well,” said Samol, taking a deep breath in, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to know what comes next.”

 

Hadrian cleared his throat. “Yes. If you could.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


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